


ex umbra in solem

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: ubi amor, ibi dolor [6]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bratva, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reveal, Season 1, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Set in a slightly canon-divergent S1. The five times Oliver is caught self-harming and the one time he isn’t.+1: The Reveal





	ex umbra in solem

**Author's Note:**

> ex umbra in solem - _"from the shadows into the light"_
> 
> Thank you for joining me in this journey. I felt like through writing this series, I've massively grown as person and gained some perspective into my own mental state as I've placed myself in Oliver's shoes. I'm finally getting the proper help I need and it feels good. Just like Oliver in this last part of the fic, I feel liberated.

Oliver was not having a good day.

And he didn’t mean that he wasn’t having a good day mentally. He was actually in a pretty good place - he hadn’t had a depressive episode in nearly a month, and self-harm hadn’t crossed Oliver’s mind in weeks. The archer was as happy as he could be. He was taking down so many criminals with Diggle and Felicity’s help that the list was thinning, and they were now having to play what Felicity liked to call ‘target bingo’. The Hood’s work was going well. Surprisingly, his social life was going well too. Oliver had spent time with Laurel, Tommy, Thea, his parents and even Lance over the last month, going for walks in the park and taking them out to dinner frequently. They were proud of him - and they always told him so as well, which caused Oliver’s chest to swell with elation, causing him to smile more in a week than he had since he had returned from the island.

No, the not-very-good-day was due to the fact that he, his friends, family and team had been kidnapped by a rogue Bratva faction.

Groggily lifting his head, it took a few seconds for Oliver's eyes to focus and his instincts to kick back in. He immediately strained against restraints keeping his hands tied behind his back to the back of a chair and his feet tethered to the legs. Shaking the fuzziness from his mind, he glanced around searchingly, eyes narrowed with suspicion as he tried to recall and survey his surroundings whilst also remembering what had led to this capture.

He had been on the way to dinner with his family and friends in a limo, with Felicity and Diggle beside him and Thea, Moira and Walter on the opposite seats. Laurel, Tommy and Lance had been in a separate car trailing behind him. That explained why he was still wearing his suit, although it was streaked with ash and dirt. A van had slammed into the limo from the side, and he vaguely remembered the thwip of two gunshots that killed the driver and their extra security detail in the front, before some sort of gas canister had been thrown in, releasing knock out gas. The last thing he had seen before passing out was Laurel, Tommy and Lance jumping out of the car and running towards them, but being tackled down to the ground by masked figures.

His family and friends. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he quickly scanned around what looked like a large empty warehouse, and he exhaled heavily in relief when he managed to catch sight of the others in the same position he was in, tied to chairs, but they were all alive.

"Felicity. Felicity," he called urgently, as she was the closest to his position. The blonde stirred and she too pulled at her restraints, trying to pull herself upright. "Hey, over here."

"Oliver?" she croaked. "What - the limo -"

"We've been kidnapped," he told her calmly. "The limo got hit, we were gassed.” Seeing as how his bodyguard was beginning to twitch and move next to Felicity, he asked, “Dig, are you alright? You took the largest amount of impact.”

“I’m fine,” Diggle replied, shaking his head slowly, testing his bonds. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” the archer nodded.

His mother's weakened and slightly slurred voice echoed throughout the warehouse as she exclaimed worriedly, "Thea... Walter, Oliver?"

"Here, Mom," he replied, checking his restraints to see if there was any way out of them. They were ropes and zip-ties, thankfully - restraints he could easily escape from. "Is everybody awake?” He raised his voice and called out, “Mr Lance? Tommy? Laurel?” as they were on the other side of the warehouse, the furthest from him. “Are you all okay? Are you hurt at all?”

“Goddammit,” Lance’s irritated voice sounded, and the archer had to hold back his smirk.

Tommy shifted in his own chair, raising his head and blinking rapidly in confusion. “What’s happened?”

“We’ve been kidnapped,” Diggle relayed. Although, Oliver thought that was rather obvious.

"What's going on?" Thea questioned nervously, sounding scared. "Mom? Ollie?"

"The men who took us," Walter piped up, sounding like he had thrown off the effects of the gas successfully as his voice was crisp and clear, although there was an undertone of some panic. "They killed Stuart and Ben." Their driver and bodyguard.

"That's not what's important right now," Oliver said strongly, realising he needed to take charge swiftly and reassure them. Very quickly, they were starting to panic, and if he didn’t get this situation under control, they weren’t going to get out of here with everybody safe and alive. "We're going to be okay. They probably want money, it might be something to do with Queen Consolidated."

“Mr Diggle, can’t you get us out of here?” Walter questioned.

“They took my gun, and my hands are tied - literally. I’m just as helpless as all of you. I apologise, Mr Steele, Mrs Queen - I failed to protect your family from this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lance snapped. “This ain’t your fault.”

Oliver cleared his throat, drawing all of their attention. “Everybody needs to stay calm, alright? I'm going to get us all out of here, to safety, but you have to listen to me and do exactly what I say."

"Oliver, we're tied up, they've taken our phones, nobody knows where we are and they have guns. How could you possibly get us out of this?" Moira gasped, tears springing up and she started to seriously freak out, like Oliver knew she inevitably would do.

Luckily, Felicity jumped in. "Mrs Queen, don't worry. Oliver knows what to do and he's going to get us out of here. How isn't important at the moment, but trust me, your son knows exactly what he's doing. If anybody is going to get us to safety, it's Oliver."

"Miss Smoak!" Walter exclaimed, surprised but also anguished. "I'm so sorry you had to be dragged into this -"

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m Oliver’s friend, I knew this sort of situation would happen eventually," Felicity responded, and the archer could see she was rolling her eyes exasperatedly, which made a smile quirk up his lips. "Okay, Oliver, what's our first move?"

"We find out what they want with us," he answered instantly.

“Son, no offence, but I really don’t think you should be the one taking charge over this situation,” Lance interrupted, struggling so much within his chair that the ropes were tightening around his wrists almost painfully. Oliver winced. The detective did not look comfortable. “It should be Mr Diggle or I calling the shots.”

“Have either of you ever been assaulted, kidnapped, tied up and been forced to plan your own escape from your abductors before?” Oliver questioned, allowing an annoyed tone to leak into his voice, levelling Lance with a glare that caused the detective to look surprised.

“No,” Lance replied quietly.

“Neither have I,” Diggle shook his head. “We got some official training for this sort of situation in the army, but that often involved me having a gun. Never done this sort of thing before without anything to defend myself available.”

“Well, I have,” Oliver responded. “Had training for this situation, that is. And I’ve been in this position many times before. So trust me when I say I know what I am doing, alright?”

“Ollie, that’s absurd!” Laurel cried out. She was wiggling so much in her bonds that her wrists were starting to chafe as well, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was holding it together better than Thea and his mother was, but Oliver still had to restrain his instincts to tell her to woman up. “How could you possibly know how to deal with this?!”

“Like I said, Laurel. I’ve been trained to deal with this,” he repeated. “Remember when I mentioned that I was made to sign a non-disclosure agreement by an agency some time ago, about what happened on the island? That agency - the same government sanctioned group that John’s friend Lyla works for - they taught me how to manage these sorts of situations. So please… let me take over, and let me get us out of here, alright?”

Everybody nodded silently, eyes wide.

Oliver sighed in relief that they were finally listening to him, and the archer angled his body so that he was addressing all of them, keeping his voice low and calm just in case they were being surveilled by whoever took them. “You don't aggravate them at all, for any reason, got it? I am the only person allowed to talk to them. You stay silent." He inhaled before slowly saying, "I'm going to try and direct their attention onto me, so they leave you all alone. If it's information they want, they'll probably try and interrogate me.”

Lance cut in, sounding alarmed, “Oliver, you’re a civilian, I can’t possibly sit back and let you -”

“ - it’s my job to protect you, if anybody should be taking the brunt of their interrogation it should be me,” Diggle interrupted at the same time.

Oliver whipped his head around to stare intensely at them, his eyes piercing and cold as he ordered without speaking, shut up. They both lapsed into silence, and Diggle gave him a stout nod of respect, motioning for him to continue.

“Their interrogation won't look pleasant,” the archer went on slowly, “But whatever happens, do NOT comply with their demands. Don't give any information, don't agree to give money, don't agree to anything."

Laurel sniffed. “No negotiation?”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “No matter what they do to me to try and get us to talk.”

"What do you mean by that?" Thea asked, her voice trembling.

Oliver didn't get a chance to reply. The warehouse doors were opened and a group of five men, dressed in dark clothes and with what looked like semi-automatic rifles came in, locking the doors behind. The archer narrowed his eyes, analysing them: they looked distinctly Russian and as one of them strode up to him to drag him on his chair to the middle of the room into a pool of light provided by a weathered hole in the warehouse look, he saw the flash of a Bratva tattoo, a lower-ranking member one. His heart sunk, before fury flared up inside of him, making him grit his teeth as he wondered whether or not Anatoly had ordered this assault on his family.

"Queen family," said one of the men, in a thick Russian accent. "Queen friends. A police detective, lawyer, pretty rich playboy and bodyguard. And Mr Queen's technician, his little _igrushka_."

Felicity made to protest at that, but Oliver shot her a half-hearted glare to be quiet. He was angry himself at what they had called her - how _dare_ they call her a toy - but he kept his cool, making sure his expression was blank and cold. He aimed a frigid, flat stare at the Bratva member and questioned in Russian, " _What do you want with my family? I am a Bratva Captain and I could have your head for this._ "

"Liar," the Bratva member spat back. " _No American can be a Bratva Captain._ " Then he whipped forwards and struck Oliver across the face harshly with his fist, not exactly in a punch but more like a slug, making the archer's head turn and grit his teeth. His family and friends cried out and Felicity squeaked in worry, used to seeing him beaten up but not up close. Diggle was seething silently, fists clenching as he fought at his restraints, wanting to go to Oliver’s aid. "You do not get to ask the questions. We do. If you do not answer -" the man pulled out a knife. "We will kill you, your friends and family, and also your blonde prize."

His eyes flitted over to his mother and stepfather, who were watching, terrified, but keeping quiet; to Thea, who was shaking and sobbing silently, and then to Diggle, who was still looking lethally angry. Lance was staying silent, but his expression told Oliver that the detective wanted nothing more than to be able to stand and shoot all of these men in the chest. The archer’s gaze flew over Laurel and Tommy, who were both staring wide-eyed, before his eyes settled on Felicity; his heart leapt into his throat. The thugs were leering at her, and judging by what the Bratva member had said before, they clearly thought she was just his call-girl, somebody he used for sex. Anger coursed through him and he turned back to glare at the man standing in front of him.

"They don't know anything," Oliver replied lowly. "If you want information, you can question me. Leave them alone."

"You talk, and I will not need to use your family and friends to punish you."

" _Do your worst_ ," Oliver replied tonelessly in Russian, his eyes stone cold.

It became evident after a few minutes of questioning that the Bratva members were after money, as well as some new tech that he and Felicity were overseeing the development of due to the fact that it could be weaponised, which was precisely the reason why the men were interested in it. They soon became annoyed and furious at the fact that Oliver was refusing to answer, often staying silent or countering with more questions, because the leader let out a snarl after about five minutes and dug the blade of the knife into his chest, not deep enough to brush his rib cage, but deep enough that rivets of blood began soaking his shirt.

"Oliver!" Thea shouted, horrified, struggling wildly.

One of the thugs made to hit her to get her to shut up, but Oliver pushed past the pain, raising his head and growling threateningly, his Russian impeccable, " _Touch her and I will make all of your children orphans, your wives widows and I'll make you wish you never set foot in the States._ "

A beat passed and then the knife was pulled away, the Bratva thugs pulling together and laughing at his words, obviously not realising they were genuine. " _You have a very pretty little sister, Mr Queen,_ " one of them sneered, baring his dirty teeth in an awful grin.

"Oliver?" Thea asked timidly, trembling. "What - what are they saying?"

" _The things I would like to do to her,_ " the man continued, leering nastily at Thea, who flinched, before he moved over to Felicity and reached out to play with a strand of her blonde hair, which caused fury to flare up inside of the archer uncontrollably and strain against his restraints. " _And I bet I could make your bitch here beg._ "

Oliver had had enough. He couldn't get a hold on the fury overwhelming him, seeing those men touching his sister and best friend. Snapping the zip ties, he rose slowly to his feet, getting a solid foundation as he growled, deathly quiet and lethal, "I said don't touch them."

And he _snapped._

He took two of the Russian thugs down within seconds, kicking their legs out from underneath them as he grappled them by their throats and threw them across the room so they hit the hall with painful sounding crunches. Immediately, the other three began shouted obscene Russian swear words and opening fire on Oliver with their semi-automatics. The archer swept up to them with all the grace of a ferocious, deadly tiger, adrenalin pumping through his veins and his fury making him see red so that without a second thought, he snapped one of the men’s necks.

The shrieks of horror that erupted from his friends’ and family members’ throats struck his mind and made him freeze for a brief second, blinking as the retreating logical, rational part of his consciousness processed the sounds. But then the other two Russians were firing bullets at him and he was _reacting_ and they were dead as well.

The archer was shaking, so hyped up and on the ultra alert that every single sound made him flinch. He was standing in the middle of the dark warehouse with dead and unconscious bodies surrounding him, and he could smell blood; whether it was theirs or his, he didn’t know, but the stench threw him straight back into memories of the island and Hong Kong and Moscow and he started gasping for breath, trembling. It had been quite a while since he’d killed somebody with his bare hands, as it was often cleaner, easier, to shoot and kill using his bow - made him feel less guilty, less like the monster he truly was at heart. The elation he always felt after killing somebody, knowing that he’d survived yet another fight against the greatest of odds, was suffocating, but he was addicted to it.

“Oliver!” His head darted up and his eyes immediately clashed with Diggle’s. He zeroed in on the bodyguard; if he kept Diggle as a focal point, he was less likely to slip back into Island-killer-mode, less probable to succumb to flashbacks. “Oliver, calm down. It’s fine. You dealt with the threats, we’re all safe now. You’re safe. You’re not on the island. You’re in Starling City, in a warehouse. Felicity and I are here, as well as your friends and family. You took down all the Russian guys. We’re all unhurt. We’re safe.”

Inhaling with a shudder Oliver straightened up, but not before picking up one of the semi automatics from a limp Russian’s hands and checking the magazine. Noting that the guy also had a switchblade in his jacket, he grabbed that as well. “There’ll be more of them coming,” he said tersely, crossing the room so he could kneel behind Diggle and cut the zip ties. “We need to get out of here.” As soon as his bodyguard was free, Oliver flitted over to Felicity, brushing his thumb over her cheek carefully as he questioned gently, “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, nodding, but Oliver could tell that she was wigged out, alarmed at what she had just seen him do directly in front of her. “Are you?”

Oliver’s jaw tightened, and he muttered, “As soon as we get out of here and back to the Foundry, I will be.” Felicity stood and started rubbing her wrists with a wince as the archer jogged towards where Diggle was helping untie Moira, Walter and Thea, reaching out for his little sister’s bonds. Thea flinched away from him, however, looking horrified, and Oliver wilted, an overwhelming sense of tiredness washing over him. “Thea, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said sadly.

“You just killed those men,” she whispered. “Like it was _nothing_. You just _KILLED THOSE GUYS_! How could you do that!?”

“Because he’s the Hood,” Lance cut in. Oliver turned to him slowly, clenching his fists and swallowing, but the detective wasn’t glaring at him with hatred or disgust. He was more eyeing him with a curiosity and confusion. “Aren’t you?”

Walter sounded shocked as he asked, “Oliver, is that true?”

“Oliver?” Tommy repeated, eyes wide.

The archer flicked his gaze between all their agitated, astonished faces and forced himself to exhale, fingers itching to grab an arrow even though he knew he wasn’t armed with his bow. Seeing Diggle and Felicity’s expressions, however, where they both shot him helpless looks, Oliver realised that the only option from this point was to confess. His friends and family had seen too much, and they weren’t stupid; Lance had already worked out the truth, it wouldn’t take long for everybody else to know that any sort of excuses Oliver made were false.

“We shouldn’t have this conversation now,” he said lowly.

“Jesus Christ, Oliver,” Laurel whispered. “ _You’re_ the Hood?”

“I knew it!” Lance yelled.

“Mr Lance, be quiet!” Moira snapped. “Oliver, sweetheart, this can’t be true!”

Cutting Tommy loose, the archer responded tightly, “Mom, _not now_. Later. I’ll explain everything later. We need to get out of here first, and quickly too, before other mobsters realise that we took their guys down and come to kill us.” Now that everybody was free, all staring at him with gobsmacked expressions, Oliver began searching the rest of the space for his weapons, which they had stripped off him whilst he was unconscious. “Diggle, search the bodies for a cell phone. They probably smashed all of ours.”

The archer was surprised that the rest of the group was able to remain silent, simply huddling together and watching as Oliver, Diggle and Felicity worked. Thankfully, one of the men that Oliver knocked out did have a cell phone on him, and using it, Felicity was able to hack the CCTV around the area so they could plan an escape route that would encounter the least number of hostiles. Whilst Felicity and Diggle picked a vehicle to make their getaway, Oliver found a couple of his flechettes, knives and Diggle’s handgun on the knocked out mobsters, stashing his own weapons before passing over the firearm to his bodyguard. Their recovered weapons, as well as the ones they’d stolen from the mobsters, might just give them enough firepower to fight their way out.

Lance finally spoke up, saying, “Your route still leaves seven guys between us and our getaway vehicle.” He’d obviously been eavesdropping on their conversation and planning, although that fact didn’t exactly surprise Oliver. “And it’s the longest way out of here. Isn’t there another, shorter way out of here that doesn’t involve us engaging hostiles?”

“We either go through that door,” Oliver motioned with his hand, “Encounter seven guys, and it takes us ten minutes to escape, or we go through that one, which will only take four minutes,” he pointed at their only other option, “But we go up against twenty men.”

“All armed with semi-automatics,” Diggle added, showing Felicity how to check the magazine of her stolen gun.

Usually, the archer would vehemently protest the blonde handling any sort of firearm, mostly because he _hated_ the idea of Felicity making herself a target. In this situation, however, they didn’t really have any choice. Out of everybody in the group, only Oliver, Diggle, Lance and Felicity had firearms training that the archer would label proficient. Laurel and Tommy had only received a couple of hours of training, and although he didn’t like to admit it, Oliver didn’t trust them to stay calm in the heat of a fight.

“How are you expecting to take on seven men?” Moira questioned quietly, much more subdued than Oliver would have expected. “They outnumber you, Mr Diggle and Detective Lance - seven to three.”

“Those don’t sound like particularly good odds from our end,” Walter agreed, looking nervous.

“I think you’re forgetting that Oliver just took down five bad guys by himself a few minutes ago,” Felicity reminded them, her tone gentle.

“He’s hurt,” Walter said. “One of those men stabbed him.”

“He’s fought people with injuries much worse.”

“And if he has to kill those men as well if they get in our way, that’s okay, right? Am I the only person here who gives a crap about Ollie’s kill count for today possibly increasing from five to twelve people?” Thea asked stiffly.

“You can judge me for killing the guys who tried to kill us once we’re out of here and safe at my base,” Oliver snapped back at her, stepping in front of Felicity protectively to shield her from his little sister’s rage. 

“I don’t see why you kill,” Laurel chimed in, more confused than angry. “Evidently, if you’re strong and capable enough to use deadly force, you can also utilise non-lethal force in a fight. You don’t _have_ to kill.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” the archer muttered.

He beckoned for the rest of the group to follow - his mother, stepfather and best friend trailed after him without any complaints. Even Detective Lance quickly caught up with him, consciously aware now that Oliver was their best chance of getting out of this place. Thea and Laurel seemed much more reluctant, actually having to be urged forwards by both Diggle and Felicity. Stilling for a moment, the archer poised to listen past the warehouse door, checking to see whether or not they would meet any of the seven hostiles between them and their exit immediately.

His focus was ruined, however, by Thea sniping, “Well, maybe we would understand, if you actually explained to us why you have to kill people instead of - oh, I don’t know - _killing people_.”

Due to the fact that he was already unsettled and wracked with pent-up energy, his little sister’s statement just pushed Oliver over the edge, causing him to whip around to face her with a thunderous expression. “You know what, until you lot have been stranded on an island for five years with terrorists hunting you down to torture and murder you, you have _no right_ to pass judgement on me for my methods,” Oliver said fiercely, pointing at both Thea and Laurel specifically. Both of them appeared aghast. Satisfied that for now, they’d been put in their places, the archer turned back to his team. “Felicity, you’ll be up front with me, leading the group. Dig, Detective Lance, you’ll have to bring up the rear and cover us from behind.”

“Copy that,” Diggle nodded, moving with Lance so he was standing, ready, behind Laurel and Thea.

“How come Felicity gets a gun and we don’t?” Tommy questioned, crossing his arms.

“Because Diggle and I trained Felicity with guns specifically in case a situation like this ever happened and frankly, I don’t trust any of you with your firearms skills,” Oliver answered bluntly. “I know you and Laurel can handle yourselves, Tommy, but I haven’t seen either of you use a gun up close to get a good idea of how accurate your aims are.”

“So we’re supposed to just trot along to the escape vehicle with you four protecting us, with no means to help?” Walter raised an eyebrow.

Oliver didn’t sugarcoat it. “Yes.”

The archer kicked open the doorway, his mission-focus and confidence setting in when he accepted his hypervigilance, instinct taking over his mind. He was tensed and geared up for a fight as they crept through what appeared to be a short corridor, leading to the next warehouse along the row. Everybody remained silent, so that the only noises to be heard was the soft footfalls due to their movement and their breathing. Oliver, however, could hear so much more than that, thanks to his enhanced hearing. He could hear the creak of the walls around them and the friction of air against metal as Diggle and Lance swung their guns back and forth behind them occasionally, to check they weren’t being followed.

Felicity exhaled beside him and hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder. He startled ever so slightly and diverted more of his attention over to her. She pointed at an exit door over to the left before showing him the cell phone screen. Taking it in his free hand, that wasn’t holding a gun, Oliver frowned down as he noticed the footage showed the seven Bratva members they would have to fight to get to their escape van heading forwards the door from across the way. They needed to act fast.

Quickly communicating with Diggle and Lance via hand signals what their next moves were, he signalled to his family and friends to stay back and remain quiet. They nodded, eyes wide and scared.

Oliver busted through the door and rapidly shot down two of the men. Diggle took down another two whilst Lance managed to take down one. The two Bratva thugs that were left over, the archer knocked out with effortless, sharp punches to their faces. It was only once all of the men were unconscious or dead that Oliver realised how dark it was. He tried to quickly cover his eyes so they could adjust from coming so quickly from the lit corridor into the night outside, but it was already too late, triggering a pounding headache to start up thanks to how hypersensitive he currently was.

Despite how dizzy he suddenly felt (although that might have been due to blood loss from his stab wound, not just his headache), Oliver spotted their getaway van parked around twenty metres away. Diggle and Lance were already shepherding the rest of the group towards it, the detective hopping into the back to help everybody up. The archer jumped up into the back alongside his family and friends while Diggle and Felicity slid into the front, the bodyguard driving while the blonde would act as navigator through the streets. Fortunately, one of the mobsters had been stupid enough to leave the keys in the ignition. They would be able to make a pretty fast getaway. They were going to head back into the Glades and get everybody to the Foundry, as the Queen mansion wasn’t fortified enough.

The ride was bumpy, and would have been very dark if Diggle hadn’t passed back a couple of torches he’d found in the glove compartment. For the first ten minutes or so, everybody remained on edge, Oliver remaining knelt, hovering near the closed back doors just in case he needed to swing them open and shoot at any pursuers. They seemed, however, to have managed to escape cleanly. It was only once Felicity called back to them that they were in the clear that the archer relaxed, taking a seat next to Tommy.

His heart palpitated when his best friend leaned away from him, eyeing him warily. Of course, Tommy would be scared of him. His entire family and his friends were all probably terrified of him now. Glancing away as he swallowed dryly, Oliver curled up tightly, hugging his knees to his chest. He fixed his gaze intensely on the floor of the van, determined to maintain a blank, impassive expression. He didn’t want to give away to anybody that he was upset and concerned about what the future might hold. For all Oliver knew, they could get to the Foundry and Lance could immediately arrest him, calling a SWAT team down on their base. His mother, stepfather and sister might disown him and never want him near them again. Laurel and Tommy could completely cut Oliver out of their lives, shunning him for the lives he’d taken and his choice to become the Starling City Vigilante.

“Were all of those guys dead?” Thea asked unexpectedly, raising her head from where it had been resting on her mother’s shoulder to stare at the archer dubiously.

Oliver could only answer honestly, admitting, “I’m not sure.”

“I didn’t aim for the chest or head,” Lance said, “And Diggle didn’t either. Oliver didn’t kill those last two men he punched.”

“I can’t believe you’re so okay with killing people,” Laurel muttered, avoiding meeting the archer’s gaze. “You’ve changed, _a lot_.”

“Five years fighting for your own survival will do that to you,” the archer replied.

“And when you say fighting for your own survival,” Walter said, “You don’t mean struggling to find food or water, or failing to build shelters, do you?”

“Not entirely. Those were issues that I had to face. But there was actual fighting involved as well. Lian Yu was being used as a prison for high-risk Chinese prisoners, and it was the base of two terrorist operations and a group doing illegal medical experiments as well. On the island, it was kill or be killed.”

Tommy shook his head in frustration beside him, shifting so that he was sitting on the other side of the van, away from Oliver. “You’re not on the island anymore. You don’t _need_ to kill.”

“The people I go up against wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, Tommy,” the archer sighed. “I can’t go out there against the worst criminals this city has to offer with any sort of hesitance.”

“And why _do_ you need to go out there?”

“That’s a long explanation, and not one for right now.”

“I never thought it would reach this level,” Moira murmured quietly, not to Oliver, but to Walter. She obviously hadn’t intended for the archer to overhear, but because of his enhanced hearing, he perceived the soft whisper just as he would any voice of normal volume. “This is a degree of self-harm that nobody could have anticipated.”

Oliver blinked at her in confusion. “You… you think this is me self-harming?” he asked incredulously.

His mother startled, surprised that he’d been listening in. Blushing, she said, “You have to admit, Oliver, putting yourself out there as the Hood, deliberately placing yourself into dangerous situations where you could so easily get hurt or killed - that is self-destructive activity on a grand scale.”

The archer was almost speechless. His words felt garbled in his mouth, but he was able to force out a choked, “Mom, this - this is _not_ self-harm.”

“How many times have you been injured since starting this crusade of yours?” Lance questioned.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because your mom is right,” the detective said. “You’ve provoked criminals - goaded police officers. You’ve put pressure on all the mafia rings in the city and gone up against stone-cold murderers. Only somebody with a pretty strong death-wish would do that. So tell us, how many times have you got hurt since you began your Robin Hood-impression?”

“Not Robin Hood,” the archer shook his head.

“Oliver,” Walter said sternly.

“Answer the question,” Laurel demanded.

Exhaling, the archer fiddled with his fingers and stared at his knees. The knot of anxiety in his stomach was tightening, making him feel almost sick, and everything was overwhelming him all at once. He couldn’t process and deal with everybody’s emotions and judgement at the same time, but that was what he was being forced to do. He was trapped in an enclosed, reasonably dark space with his family and friends who were demanding answers, which Oliver did not want to give.

“Oliver -”

“Stop it, alright?” he said harshly, rubbing his shaking hands over his face. “I don’t know what to do. Whatever I say, you’ll get upset by, and whatever I don’t say, you’ll be pissed off at me for. I’m stuck in the back of a van with all of you, and all you’ve done since you found out who I am is shout at me or throw barbed comments and insults. I have a headache because I’m overstimulated and I’m dizzy because I’ve lost blood from being stabbed. I’m not exactly in the best headspace right now.”

The group fell silent, staring at him with wide, shocked expressions. There were a couple of muttered apologies and then before Oliver knew it, nobody was looking at him, they were all angling themselves away and he felt almost as if he’d been completely shut out. It only made the archer more frustrated, his throbbing head and aching chest wound not helping matters much.

Fortunately, the van journey didn’t take that much longer, Diggle pulling the vehicle into the back alley that led to their base’s secret entrance, parking in between two dumpsters to shield them from view from the street. There weren’t very many CCTV or traffic cameras in the Glades, so there wasn’t much of a risk of being followed by the Russian mobsters, but they always liked to be safe. Considering it was nearing midnight, Verdant was in full swing - thank god that Tommy and Oliver had hired assistant managers to run the nightclub when they weren’t available. The thundering music only worsened the archer’s headache, causing him to become so faint for a brief second that he tipped sideways when clambering out of the van.

Felicity and Diggle lurched forwards to catch him. “You okay, man?” the bodyguard asked concernedly. “C’mon, we should probably get everybody inside and have a look at that stab wound of yours.”

Even with his teammates helping him, Oliver wasn’t able to get far. He blacked out before they even got to the stairs. The last thing he heard before the darkness overwhelmed his mind was his mother and sister exclaiming his name worriedly and Lance’s shout as the archer tumbled to the ground.

When he woke up, it was to a cold, hard metal surface beneath his body and with an itchy feeling in his right arm. Frowning, Oliver reached out with his left hand to investigate the itch, but a hand caught his before he could begin to scratch, squeezing it gently.

“Don’t want to do that,” Felicity said, swimming into eyesight above him. “Blood transfusion. Don’t want to rip the needle out and risk you bleeding out even more, do we?”

She was looking down at him with a sympathetic smile, and started to help the archer up to a sitting position, carefully taking out the blood transfusion needle and putting a little plaster on top of the hole in his skin. She quickly grabbed a glass of water and a sweatshirt for him, since Oliver’s shirt had been taken off for the stab wound in his chest to be patched up. Diggle usually did a good job with any stitching, so Oliver decided not to peel back the dressing to inspect it.

“It was blood loss I passed out from?” he questioned, shrugging on the sweatshirt and wincing at it tugged at his wound.

“Mainly,” Felicity agreed. “Dig said there was some mental overstimulation at play as well. You essentially had a PTSD episode when we were in the warehouse after those guys stabbed you, but Dig reckons adrenalin held off the post-episode crash.”

“Makes sense,” he nodded. Raising his chin slightly so he could look over Felicity’s shoulder, he questioned warily, “Where is everybody?” He couldn’t see his family or friends around the dark Foundry, which was unusual, because he would have thought they’d be walking around looking at his weapons and arrows in astonishment or horror.

“They… saw,” Felicity whispered, an apologetic look on her face. “Your scars, that is. Your mom got upset. Like, _really_ upset. She might have been crying, I can’t remember. Walter might have been too. Diggle and I were a little busy trying to make sure you didn’t - well, you know -”

“Die?” Oliver finished, raising an eyebrow as his lips quirked up into a small, amused smile.

“Yeah,” she exhaled. “Tommy got a little angry and was - the nicest way to put it would be throwing stuff around, so Diggle took him out on a Big Belly Burger run. I think your family, Detective Lance and Laurel are sitting on stools at the back near your archery practice area. I was kind of busy working on tracking down the Russian dudes, but I think Diggle gave them some of the post-mission reports and our injury logbook to read.”

“Injury what-book?”

“Injury logbook. We write down all the details of any injuries you get when in the field as a precaution.”

Oliver stared at her. “You gave my family access to a book containing every single injury I’ve ever received while in the field as the Hood?”

Felicity raised her hands into the surrender position. “Hey, that was Dig’s idea to get your mom and sister to shut up and stop bugging me when I was working on my searches. If it’s any consolation, they seemed more sad than angry.”

“Great,” the archer muttered. “Okay, before I go and handle that mess, have you got any workable intel about who kidnapped us?”

“Yep!” Felicity slid into her chair, swivelling around to bring up all of the information onto her screens. “I used the cell phone we stole from that Russian dude to work out the identities of the mobsters - which were fake identities - but then their real ones, after that. They’re all rogue Central City Bratva, low-level thugs who, from what I can tell, are trying to set up an underground Bratva faction - well, more underground than the Bratva already is - within the Gem Cities. I’m guessing they wanted the money and those technical specs in order to weaponise the tech and sell it to the highest bidder in the black market. Mob black market. If that even exists.”

“It does,” Oliver sighed. “Well, that’s good news. If they’re rogues, the Central City faction will see me killing them as me doing them a favour. I’ll contact the Starling faction and inform them that I took care of those men as a Kapitan protecting his territory.”

“Are you going to call them or go in person? Because if you’re going in person, I think you should probably wait so you can take Diggle with you. I don’t like the idea of you walking into the lair of Russian mobsters without backup.”

“Their ‘lair’ as you call it, is a garage,” the archer chuckled. “And you’re right, considering I’m injured, it wouldn’t be sensible to go by myself. I’ll call Leonov to set up a meeting for this evening.” He frowned. “Wait, what time is it?”

“It is just past three in the morning,” the blonde told him with a weak, tired smile.

“You should go home and get some sleep,” Oliver suggested.

“And leave you alone with your family and friends who just found out you’re the vigilante? That’s not happening. What if you get overwhelmed like before and have to take a break, but they don’t pick up on that?”

Oliver’s lips quirked up into a small smile. “I’ll call you over if I need you, okay?”

“Got it. Good luck.”

“Yeah, I’m going to need it,” he whispered under his breath as he slowly strode over to the other side of the Foundry, where he could faintly hear the voices of his family and friends.

Silence fell the moment that everybody noticed that Oliver was approaching them. Thea had what looked to be the injury logbook in her hands, and Lance and Walter were leafing through a couple of folders with a mixture of handwritten and typed up profiles and reports in it. Moira immediate stood and threw her arms around her son’s shoulders, hugging him tightly. Wincing because of the pressure the embrace put on his wound, the archer pulled back reluctantly.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her quietly.

“You passed out from blood loss, you are very evidently not fine,” Moira huffed.

“Felicity and Diggle gave me a blood transfusion, so really, I am fine.”

“You know, it’s kind of alarming that you have an entire refrigerated drawer full to the brim of your own blood bags,” Lance said dryly.

“In this line of work, it’s a necessity.”

“Yeah, we know,” Thea said. Her voice was quiet but tight, an impassive expression on her face as she raised the injury logbook she was reading as if to confirm her point.

“Diggle shouldn’t have given you that.”

Moira stiffened and she took a step backwards, snapping, “You don’t think that as your _mother_ I deserve to know how many times you’ve almost died during this insane, self-destructive crusade you set yourself on?” 

“No, you don’t, considering that every single time I’ve come home injured and _shown it_ you’ve ignored me,” Oliver fired back at her.

His mother blanched, looking shocked and upset.

Sighing, the archer ran a hand over his face in exhaustion. “We shouldn’t fight. I don’t want to fight.” Glancing over at Lance, he asked the detective seriously, “Do I need to worry about being arrested anytime soon?”

“You’ve already been acquitted of being the vigilante and nobody would ever believe me if I accused you again, so no,” Lance scowled.

“You could easily call the police down here. There would be enough evidence.”

“Are you _trying_ to convince me to arrest you?” the detective questioned, sounding annoyed. “I said _no_ , alright? And Mr Diggle and Ms Smoak are safe as well.”

“It’s almost as if you want to be put in jail,” Laurel muttered, but then her eyes widened as if in realisation. “Ollie, is this - is this your cry for help? This whole Hood thing, putting yourself in danger every night, taunting criminals and the police - this is the worse cast of your self-harm so far. This entire time, since you got back, since you started going out as the vigilante - has this been you shouting out that you need us to help you, but we didn’t listen?”

Oliver stared at her, practically gaping for a moment. He swept his eyes over the rest of his family and friends and - yes, they all had guilty, horrified looks on their faces to match Laurel’s.

“Oh my god,” he murmured. “You all totally believe that me being the Hood is self-harming, don’t you?”

“You’ve nearly got yourself killed over a dozen times,” Walter said, pointing at the injury logbook. “And from what we can tell from the mission reports, you’re reckless, attracted to danger, and you deliberately put yourself in harm’s way without a second thought to catch villains.”

“Don’t call them villains.”

“Oliver,” Thea said, and she sounded so distressed, looking as if she was about to cry; the archer swallowed. “We’re serious.”

“This is not self-harm,” he informed them. “I promise. I’m in a lot better place now mentally. My depressive episode seems to have lifted slightly. Honestly, I haven’t even thought about hurting myself in weeks. This is _not_ self-harm. This is something that I have to do, to save our city.”

“Why does it have to be _you_?” Moira said tearfully. “Why do _you_ have to risk your life every night to help put criminals away? I just got you back, Oliver, I won’t survive losing you again. And you don’t seem to care about living at _all_ , so what did you expect us to think when we found out about this?”

“You know, when I told you to get a new hobby, this is _not_ what I meant,” came Tommy’s angered voice from behind him.

Oliver dropped his head down into his hands, heaving another sigh. He’d heard Tommy and Diggle come back into the Foundry faintly but it hadn’t registered properly, only lingering at the back of his mind. He turned to see Diggle unloading a box of Big Belly Burger, Tommy abandoning the bodyguard to stalk towards the archer.

“You killed those guys who kidnapped us on your second day back,” Tommy said furiously, stabbing his finger into Oliver’s chest. “I _saw_ you. I thought I must have been hallucinating, but I wasn’t, was I? You murdered those men and then chased that last one down like a _dog_ to kill him.”

“Yes, I did,” Oliver replied calmly.

“Do you _like_ killing? Is that why you do it? Do you _enjoy_ it?”

“Tommy!” Walter exploded, his deep voice sounding appalled.

Oliver felt a blank expression slip over his face as a defence mechanism. Because he didn’t know how to answer Tommy’s question. He couldn’t flat out say no because truth be told, he didn’t know if that was the correct answer. He didn’t _think_ he enjoyed killing - he thought he _hated_ it - but subconsciously… maybe there was a tiny, psychopathic part of him, born from the terrors and horrors of the island, that relished in the violence, in the death.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Felicity strode up from behind, a fierce look on her face as she stepped in front of Oliver, blocking him from his family and friends’ views. “That was so rude, Tommy. You can either apologise to Oliver right now or get out.”

“This is my club, you can’t tell me to get out,” Tommy spat back at her.

“Tommy… I think you should apologise,” Laurel said quietly. The rest of the group nodded silently in agreement.

Tommy just looked between them all and after a moment, deflated. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath. “That was wrong of me to say. I know you don’t enjoy killing people. I know it’s a last resort for you. But there’s so much that we don’t know about you because of this and… to be honest with you, I feel like just looking at you, I’m looking at a complete stranger. You’ve changed so much, Oliver.”

“Not just because of the island and because of… this,” Moira agreed. “But because of your self-harming. Sometimes you seem far away to us, sweetheart. Like you’re living in your own world separate from ours.”

“You seem so _lost_ ,” Thea whispered.

“You know what’s funny?” the archer said, lips quirking up into a weak smile. “This is the first time in half a decade that I haven’t felt lost. I haven’t felt this mentally healthy in years. And that’s partly down to the support that you guys have been giving me.”

“Oliver, now that we know about all of this…” Lance shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve been supporting you at all.”

“We should all sit down,” Oliver suggested. “I can explain more about what I’ve been doing to you and hopefully help you understand why I’m doing this.”

“Not self-harm?” Tommy questioned.

“Not self-harm,” the archer confirmed. “I swear on my life.”

“Your life doesn’t mean very much to you, so that’s not a very strong promise.”

“I swear to god, Tommy, I will destroy you digitally,” Felicity threatened.

“Sorry! Sorry. That just came out. I didn’t it. I… really appreciate that you’re going to open up to us, Oliver. Truly.”

“We’ve got burgers to eat, and a couple of hours to burn before Diggle and I need to head out to deal with the problem of our kidnappers,” Oliver said. “So let’s sit, and talk.”

“Put everything out on the table?” Moira suggested.

“No lies, just complete honesty,” Thea requested.

“And no avoiding any questions either,” Walter added.

Oliver nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

“I’m good with answering any questions you might have as well,” Diggle said, and Felicity nodded, saying, “Me too.”

As everybody shifted away from the corner into the main part of the Foundry, moving to grab stools and chairs to form a small circle, the archer centred himself, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say. The truth. The utter, total truth, about everything. About his father, about the island, and about his life since returning to civilisation. He had Diggle and Felicity supporting him and his family and friends were going to _listen_. 

Taking his own seat and looking around at all the people surrounding him - people who he cared for and loved, who he would protect and take bullets for without any hesitance whatsoever, Oliver felt, for a fleeting moment, at last _accepted_. Accepted for his flaws and mistakes, accepted for his depression and self-harm. Accepted for simply existing. He hadn’t felt like that in such a long time. It was liberating.

Taking a deep breath, Oliver began.

“My name is Oliver Queen. For five years, I was stranded on an island with only one goal: survive. Now, I’m fulfilling my father's dying wish - to use the list of names he left me and bring down those who are poisoning my city. To do this, I’ve had to become someone else. I’ve had to become… something else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave kudos and comment.
> 
> Tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
> Twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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